John and the Dragon
by Scars of Friendship
Summary: John is sent to kill a dragon and rescue a princess but he's not expecting them to be the same thing.


**Title:** John and the Dragon  
**Author:** **nw1_6xe**  
**Rating**: PG  
**Warnings**: Some swearing, dragons, au  
**Pairing**: John/Sherlock  
**Author's Notes**: Written to fill this prompt. First Sherlock fic.  
**Summary**: John gets told by Mycroft that he needs to rescue the Princess and kill a dragon. Well... things are jus _neve _that simple.

John isn't even sure what to make of this ridiculous, _ridiculous_ quest he's been sent on. Oh sure, join the army, see the world and retire to a farm and a pension that was worth more than most people earned in a life time. That had been before that idiotic jousting incident that had caught him on the shoulder above his shield and somehow left him with a limp. None of the court's doctors had known what to make of it.

And that had led to, at first, weeks, then months, of sitting around the barracks and watching other soldiers make their way up in the world. The inevitable 'desk' promotion had made him the personal bodyguard of the Princess. The Princess who apparently never left her room or attended any kind of function. There were even rumours she didn't exist.

So John spent a few months sat outside a door that no one entered, no one left, feeling like he'd been squirrelled away where no one could see him.

Then Prince Mycroft had found him one day, sat up there idly sharpening a sword that hadn't seen use in almost a year, even on the practise grounds.

"You know there is nothing beyond that door, yet still you guard it," Mycroft said, all half-disguised smirk and undisguised _airs_.

"Well, one day the Princess might be behind it," John reasoned, shrugging his shoulder and feeling his leg twinge. Mycroft's eyebrow raised slightly.

"You are not afraid of royalty, are you Sir Watson?" Mycroft asked and his hand rested on his sword scabbard thoughtfully. John wondered if there was anything he could say this moment to save his head. He didn't especially _like_ Prince Mycroft, the prince was too distant from his subjects and just… _shady_ seeming for John to bother that much with.

"How would you like a quest?" Mycroft asked, his long fingers pausing on a ruby in his sword. John shrugged.

"I don't get a choice do I?" he replied. Mycroft smiled the smile of a crocodile, shark or some equally unpleasant creature.

"No, Sir Watson, you don't."

And thus John found himself on his trusty steed travelling miles of inhospitable terrain in order to fulfil Prince Mycroft's ridiculous quest.

"Find the dragon and rescue the Princess. Oh yeah, just like that. Because that's what injured knights do. They just ride off and _rescue the princess from a dragon_ ," John grumbled to his horse. She was the most sympathetic ear he'd had in a long while.

The map he'd been given was a good century old. Roads had changed, villages had become towns and even some _rivers_ had changed course. In the end he ditched the roads and just went in a straight line towards the mountains, all the while grumbling his fate and wondering if it would just be simpler to give up and go home, consequences be damned.

Sherlock sighed and put his feet up. What a pleasant day it had been so far. He had conducted some experiments, which had given him some truly mystifying results, which were always welcome. The brilliant thing about his tower was that there were no people to disturb him from his _thinking_ which was, after all, the most important thing.

"Oh yes. Lovely. Why didn't I see this coming. Of course the drawbridge is closed. Why would it be open? Why would _anything_ be simple?"

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant. The voice was male. Travel worn. Been travelling for more than a week at least. Various villages in the surrounding area but to have been travelling so long, probably from the city. So a male from the city. Not here by his own accord from the grumbling. Must be a soldier. Why would a soldier be here? Mycroft. So Mycroft has ordered a soldier here? Why? Because either Mycroft wants him back at the capital – unlikely though possible – or he wants someone to spy on Sherlock up in his tower – much more likely.

Sherlock looked at the window. Almost sundown. Well, it wasn't like he planned to let the drawbridge down so soon anyway. He guessed the soldier could wait outside for a while. Besides, Sherlock thought as he sat, I have plenty of other things to think about right now.

That night John heard snarls and growls coming from the tower. His horse bolted and he spent the night in the cold huddled against a bush against the cold. He still hadn't got a _plan_ as such. Dragon-slaying wasn't really his _forte_ . He couldn't, in fact, ever remember a time when he'd slain a dragon or a drake or even a lizard, for that matter.

With sunrise came a strange turn of events. The drawbridge lowered and John was free to take a few tentative steps across it. No dragon loomed through the door, all fire and brimstone. He straightened and took a few limping steps towards the door frame before pausing.

There was someone there. Someone tall and definitely _not_ Princess-like. They were watching him with cool eyes. Eyes that seemed to take in absolutely everything about him in an instant. John had never felt so naked in his life.

"Ho there! Have I got the wrong castle?" John shouted across the drawbridge, putting on a friendly smile.

The figure on the other side didn't move, but regarded him carefully.

"Are you here for the Princess or the dragon?" the stranger called back. John faltered and stood up a little straighter. He could tell, even from ten feet away, that this person was taller than he was.

"Bit of both really," he replied.

"Right, of course. Well sorry to disappoint you soldier, you aren't going to find either here today," the stranger replied. John frowned slightly.

"Did they used to be here?" he asked. "Do you know where they are?"

The stranger seemed to consider this for a moment then he took a few paces onto the bridge. As the morning light revealed more of his frame, John felt his stomach do something weird and inappropriate and certainly nothing he'd ever _admit_ to it doing.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes. I _am_ the dragon and the princess," the stranger said, clasping his hands behind his back. He had a slight smirk on his face and John found himself utterly floored because _this isn't how it's supposed to go_ and _fucking Mycroft_ _._

"You're lying," John protested. Sherlock's smirk widened and he held his arms up.

"Why should I lie when the truth would get to you more than anything else. Mycroft is my brother. We do not get on. I'm sure he found it amusing to send you over to me to see how I'm getting on in my exile, but really, tell him there was no need to get others involved in our squabble… unless of course he's paid you for this? In which case, I assure you to run with the money now while you have the chance," Sherlock moved from the centre of the draw bridge to the edge, looking over the edge and into the muddied, boggy depths of the moat. John felt like his head was about to explode.

"So, let me get this straight. Mycroft knows you're a dragon and for some reason think's you're a girl-"

"A cruel childhood nickname."

"-yes well. So anyway, Mycroft calls you _princess_ and you're a _dragon_ and he sent me for some reason… That doesn't make sense," John pointed out. "Even if I accept that, how do I know you didn't… I don't know. Kill the dragon and the princess isn't trapped up in that tower somewhere?"

"You wouldn't be the first to level the accusation. Unfortunately those who insisted on evidence ended up… indisposed after," Sherlock said and he glanced at John then. John felt his curiosity pique.

"Indisposed?" he repeated. Sherlock smiled a little.

"Gibbering wrecks that were once men," he said. John set his mouth in a grim line.

"Well, I want to see this evidence," he said firmly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Of course you do. You'll have to wait until sundown though. In the mean time, I'll get Mrs Hudson to get you some tea. Mrs Hudson!"

John spent the day _awkwardly_ . It seemed that Sherlock had a housekeeper called Mrs Hudson who did indeed provide tea when asked. She also fussed over Sherlock until he dismissed her. Sherlock then spent most of the day completely ignoring John except for when he wanted to ask him to do something. Often it was inane.

"Fetch me that stirring rod."

"Over on the shelf over there there's a penny. Can you tell me if it's heads or tails up?"

"Shout for Mrs Hudson for me. I can't do it from here, the vibrations will ruin the experiments."

By the end of the day John wasn't sure if he _liked_ Sherlock or _disliked_ him. It was just… _awkward_. A man who refused to pigeonholed into one emotion or another. A mad scientist who apparently was going to show him evidence at _some point_ that he was both a princess and a dragon.

"The sun is setting," Sherlock said suddenly, dropping his experiments and walking to the window. John nodded and glanced at the windows. Sherlock was silhouetted against them and John saw him straighten his shoulders before he turned. His expression was blacked out, the light from behind only emphasising the enigma about the man.

"Will you join me in the courtyard, Sir Watson?" Sherlock asked. John nodded and let Sherlock lead him down the steps of the tower. He saw Mrs Hudson disappear into a door on the stair case and as they passed he heard the sound of a deadbolt being drawn across the door.

He eventually stepped onto the uneven ground of the courtyard below. It was overgrown and clearly not used to entertain anymore. There were odd scrapes and scorch marks in places. John wondered what he was about to see. Surely Sherlock didn't intend to take the pretence of this whole silly scenario _this_ far?

"If anything goes wrong, Sir Watson, I will ask that you climb to the top of the tower and bolt the door. I am unable to fit into the corridor and I fireproofed my lab years ago. It is the safest place other than Mrs Hudson's chambers," Sherlock said, taking his place in the middle of the courtyard. John frowned.

"You're not seriously-"

But John didn't get to finish his sentence because Sherlock was changing. At first it didn't seem so obvious, a slight elongation of the neck, a licking of lips that seemed a little reptilian. Then it was suddenly too obvious.

John stared with his mouth open as Sherlock _grew_ . He became taller first, then his clothes shredded with the pressure put on him. Scales grew quickly over pale skin and soon pearlescent red scales adorned every inch of his body. While that occurred the shape of limbs changed, cracking into place in a way that must have been painful. Last of all the change were the eyes. For a moment, John was looking at a 50 foot dragon with beautiful human eyes, then they were gone, replaced by yellow reptilian slits.

"Extraordinary," John took a tentative step forward. The dragon peered down at him. He knew that most people would be drawing a sword at this point, waving it at the thing in front of them and scrambling to the safety of the tower.

John wasn't most people.

"Well aren't you a beautiful thing," he said. The dragon huffed and John felt the heat of its breath like the blast of a blacksmith's furnace against his face. He knew he should have felt fear, but he didn't.

He took another step forward and the dragon huddled down. Its muzzle was so large that it's nostrils could nuzzle John's waist. He reached out a gloved hand and rested it on the scales. They were warm, even through the leather. The dragon still watched him. Observed. Noticed.

"Truly, truly _brilliant_ ."

0

The next morning John woke up on top of a naked Sherlock. It took him a moment to work out where to put hands and knees in order to push himself off and he extricated himself from the situation with as much grace as possible.

The previous night seemed a blur of magical transformations and then… _cuddling a dragon_ . John could only think that he'd lost his mind and forgotten that the beautiful, mystical creature was in fact the complete _arse_ that was quietly _assessing_ him now.

"Good morning," he said in a clipped voice. Sherlock got to his feet and seemed to want to look at anyone but John also.

"Ah. Yes. Good morning," he said after a pause that was just a little too long to be comfortable. "I trust the evidence was… apt."

"Well, you've proven the dragon part suitably," John replied. There was another long pause. "Ah, would you, um, mind putting some trousers on?"

"I… yes. That would be wise. Mrs Hudson! I need trousers!" Sherlock shouted and began to walk towards the tower. John waited until he was sure the coast was clear before letting out a long, slow breath.

"Incredible."

Over the next few days, John stayed at the tower. During the days, Sherlock conducted experiments and during the nights he became a dragon and John caught sleep where he could and tried to work out why on earth he'd been even sent here.

After a week, Sherlock awkwardly pulled him to one side one sunset and said that he'd… well. He'd developed something that might be fun, dangerous, but fun and he wondered if John wanted to try it. John had said yes not even knowing what it was.

It'd turned out to be a kind of saddle and John had been dragged around the night's sky on a dragon's back. It had been cold, terrifying and thrilling. He had barely caught his breath from laughing so much. At one point Sherlock had belted fire out into the night sky, lighting up the world for a brief moment and John hadn't known what else to do but catch his breath and stare.

That night he went up to the tower and returned just after sunrise with a blanket, wrapping an exhausted Sherlock up and taking him upstairs. Sherlock had slept for a few hours only and soon was awake again. He didn't talk about the incident, but the next night the same offer was made.

Eventually though, all good things come to an end. No matter how wonderful it was to share his nights with a _dragon_ , John Watson was sworn to protect the _Princess_ and he had to know. If it had turned out that Sherlock had eaten her… he didn't know what he'd do.

"You've made your decision then," Sherlock said. John looked up. He hadn't realised, but he guessed Sherlock must have been watching him. Not watching. Noticing. Sherlock had drilled it into him that he just looked at things differently, saw things differently.

"I-yes. I'm going to have to return to the city, Sherlock. I have to report that the Princess isn't here," he said. Sherlock nodded.

"Of course you do. That's why I'm going with you. Besides, I'm sure we can travel there much faster by dragon," he said. John stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed.

"You're insane. The palace guard will kill you for certain. You'll end up mounted on the king's wall," John said.

Sherlock smiled.

It was difficult to describe the dragon's mind. Sherlock had long ago given up attempting it. Even so, John was the first one to have not registered as a threat to it, which Sherlock supposed was something. He stared up at the sunrise, feeling the soft breath of wind against his skin. A moment later John was slinging a travel blanket over his shoulder and Sherlock glanced back at him.

John. John who had not become a gibbering wreck, who hadn't attacked the dragon and who had, all things considered, put up with a lot of mystery. They were a few hours from the city here. Close enough they could walk and Sherlock could explain a few things before they got there.

He dressed quickly and efficiently. The shirt John had brought was a little too tight and pulled a little across the chest, but Sherlock didn't say anything. It wasn't wise to mention too much in the mornings. Especially when John looked so tired from riding through the night.

"I owe you some answers, before we head in there," Sherlock said. John stretched and Sherlock heard his spine clicking into place.

"There was a… curse. It was placed on my when I was a teenager. At the time, I'd caught the attention of a sorcerer called Moriarty. He'd become obsessed with me… I ignored him, but he grew more and more insane. He wanted the attention. Eventually, he came up with this. Every night I'd turn into a ravening beast that would destroy family and home. Mycroft sent me away immediately and our nanny, Mrs Hudson was the only person brave enough to come with us. Only a few others knew of my exile. I'm assuming he told Lestrade and possibly Hooper and Adler. My parents were told I had died."

John had stopped stretching and turned to look at him. He could see emotions flickering over John's face, but if there was one area that he always failed in it was that one. He could read people's actions, but to read their _hearts_ was always tricky. He'd failed on so many different occasions.

"Why are you returning with me then? Surely it'll cause problems?" John prompted. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and turned away. Emotions were for pathetic, weak people.

"I want you to believe me," he said simply. "Against all the evidence to the contrary, against everything that your mind says must be true. I want you to believe the truth that I have offered you."

I want you to believe the truth I have offered you.

John stood at the gates of the city, Sherlock by his side. On the other side of the gates lay the world Sherlock had been exiled from. The one that John had once belonged to. The one where Sherlock was about to become a specimen, a freak, a beast to be prodded and dissected…

Sherlock stood beside him, waiting for John to step through the gate and lead them to the next part of the story. And John realised, Sherlock had always put the ball in his court. He'd always allowed John to make that choice. He choice to see evidence, the choice to run away, the choice to return and now, even in this, Sherlock expected John to take the way out. The sure way. The way of certainty.

John didn't have Sherlock's mind. He couldn't just _notice_ the truth. But he could choose. He could choose for some things to be the truth and other things to be lies.

"Sherlock… why _do_ you do experiments in your tower?" John asked. Sherlock seemed surprised by the question.

"To break the curse," he replied. John nodded. He'd guessed that answer.

"Right. And if we break the curse, we can come back here and prove you're Mycroft's princess, right?" he asked. Sherlock nodded.

"Alright then. I can wait a little longer for my answers."

He could almost _feel_ Sherlock's grin next to him.

Sherlock and John spent a year pursuing the cure to the curse. John used the fact he could travel much more easily than Sherlock to search for leads and bring them back to Sherlock who could analyse them like no other.

Sherlock didn't tell John that he already knew what would break the curse. It would be… rather less amusing. See, Moriarty had assumed that Sherlock Holmes was the same as himself. And he would have been right, perhaps, a year ago. Before John came. Before Mycroft had identified something in John and sent him to Sherlock served up on a silver platter with a bow on top.

The curse was broken by true love's kiss. The cliché of clichés. The Big One. The one that Sherlock Holmes had thought he would never be capable of and that Mycroft had _certainly_ thought he was never going to be human enough to receive.

Now he wasn't sure so much anymore. John had come close a few times but always pulled away. A hug that lasted a little too long. An awkward clap on the back. A quick clasp of hands that were quickly dropped.

When Sherlock was alone with her, Mrs Hudson often remarked that the sexual tension had just grown unbearable and would they get their acts together _now_ please. Sherlock usually just told her to be patient and wondered how patient it was possible for one person to be.

Then one day it all goes to shit. One minute they are sipping tea in the tower, discussing new findings that John thinks might be a possible cure and Sherlock knows isn't and then the next there's Moriarty and fire and Mycroft and John being held hostage and night is falling and there's no time.

There's a moment when Sherlock knows he's going to become a dragon and knows that he will lose control of himself. He knows that he will attack Moriarty and that John, oh god, John is in the way. He doesn't know what to say. Moriarty has pulled John onto the drawbridge and Sherlock is forced to watch from the tower window and Mycroft is just uselessly sitting there on his horse with all the king's men, helpless against the Sorcerous Fire surrounding the place.

Sherlock meets John's eyes and he knows that John has realised. They have spent the last year together. They know each other well now, though John has perhaps not noticed how close they have actually become. So when Sherlock moves that imperceptible inch forward he hears John's anguished screams.

"SHERLOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!"

But he is plummeting, falling, falling, falling and Mycroft's army is moving and Moriarty is laughing and crying and his body hitting the ground makes a dull, splattering sound.

There's a funeral and everything. John sits through it numbly. Mycroft says a few words. Mrs Hudson cries loudly. The official line, that Moriarty was killed by a gigantic dragon, is repeated throughout the service. John can't wait to leave.

Sherlock has promised to tell him something important when he gets back to the tower. John half-hopes he's going to explain how he survived a one hundred foot fall without dying. The other half… the other half hopes for something different.

He meets Mrs Hudson's eyes and she hides a smile behind a handkerchief.

_What a ridiculous, idiotic, silly quest I've been sent on indeed._


End file.
